


What Makes You Come Alive

by LightningStarborne, yourlocalbirb



Series: The Last of the Nine [2]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Dirhael, BAMF!Ioreth, BAMF!Talion, Black Gate, Body Paint, Branding, Celebrimbor isn't here, Cirith Ungol, F/M, Fight Scene, Fighting, Fights, GFY, Like father like son, Magic, Mild Gore, Misunderstandings, Mordor, Nazgûl | Ringwraiths, Non Canon Magic, Orcs Are People Too, PTSD, Selectively Mute Talion, War Paint, Worldbuilding, aaannnngggsssttt, am i taggin my random oc animals as characters?, and added in some angst, from both Talion and Dirhael, i just put it in postable words, i worked hard on that shit, more garbage dialogue!!, not so much fluff in this one, yes - Freeform, yes I am, yet - Freeform, your-local-birb is the one who outlined this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStarborne/pseuds/LightningStarborne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlocalbirb/pseuds/yourlocalbirb
Summary: What’s the worst thing I’ve stolen? Probably little pieces of other people’s lives. Where I’ve either wasted their time or hurt them in some way. That’s the worst thing you can steal, the time of other people. You just can’t get that back.~Chester Bennington, May his soul rest in peaceCirith Ungol is a pass filled with danger that many know to avoid, but often that leaves them vulnerable to the danger that they forget to avoid.





	What Makes You Come Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this one is gonna be in two seperate chapters this time. This is because I am gonna be super busy this next school year since I have two new jobs on top of school, so I'm not sure how long it is gonna take me to write new chapters. It is possible that I will write much faster because I am procrastinating, or I won't post at all. We'll find out together!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Tile comes from:
> 
> Don’t ask yourself what the world needs, ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who are alive. ~Howard Thurman

“No,” Dirhael said, ignoring the fact that he was arguing with his King. “Absolutely not.”   
  


“It’s our best bet,” Aragorn pointed out. “I don’t like it either, but there’s no better choice.”

 

“Aragorn,” Dirhael said, picking his words carefully. “While I understand this expedition through Mordor, I must question if we really must reach Minas Morgul, especially if it means travelling through a pass that has led to the death of hundreds of people at the hands of a giant spider!”

 

“I have considered this as well, Dirhael,” Aragorn said. “However, this must be done. If we leave this ‘Lord of Mordor’ to his own devices, particularly when it has been brought to my attention that he has entire armies of orcs at his command, then it is possible that we will have to fight another war that we will not win. This is the best path to take, both physically and diplomatically.”

 

Dirhael sighed. “I know that, but I still just can’t help but think-”

 

“That there’s a giant spider in the pass that we’re travelling through?” Mother said.

 

“Yes!”

 

“We shall be fine,” Faramir said. “The halflings defeated Shelob when they passed through to reach Mordor. She is dead and will not be coming back.”

 

Dirhael chewed on his lip, considering. No one else seemed to be happy with it. Arwen and Eowyn were sharpening their swords in preparation for the upcoming journey, Aragorn had already pointed out his thought, and Faramir agreed with him. Dirhael turned to face his mother, who shrugged and crossed her arms.

 

“I like this even less than you do,” she said. “However, our King has a point. It is why you brought us, is it not? To be reasonable and to hopefully make this Lord see us as people.”

 

“I still don’t like it,” Dirhael said, “but I am outnumbered and you have a point.”

 

“You do not need to like it,” Aragorn said. “None of us do.”

 

The next few days came with some more grumbling from Dirhael, but they travelled steadily towards Cirith Ungol. Upon arrival, all talking, grumbling or otherwise, stopped. Regardless of his disagreement with their path, Dirhael was not stupid enough to continue speaking when it may get them all killed.

  
  


None of them slept well in Cirith Ungol and all of them woke at the slightest noise. They were exhausted from the lack of sleep and from the journey itself, so when they ran into a large group of orcs, their fight was shorter than they liked. They were swiftly overpowered and drug into a camp and seperated.

 

Dirhael was tied up next to a skinny green orc who stared at him with wide eyes. “Ranger!” the orc hissed at him.

 

Dirhael ignored him. It wasn’t worth the headache to deal with this random skinny orc who understood nothing of humanity. The worthless creature kept whispering at Dirhael anyway, but Dirhael tuned him out until the orc started speaking to the dead.

 

“Come on, Ranger” he said pleadingly. “Just listen a moment, ‘kay? Ratbag’s got a plan! It’s much better than last time. Why are you ignoring Ratbag? Talion, don’t tell me you’re in full ‘Suffer me now’ mode-”

 

“What did you say?” Dirhael snarled at him, and the orc put his hands up as much as he could.

 

“Hey, calm down, Ranger,” he laughed nervously. “We’re all friends here.”

 

“The  _ name _ , orc,” Dirhael glared at him, and the orc frowned.

 

“It’s your name, innit?” the orc said. “Ratbag just used it cause you were ignoring me, I swear. Ratbag won’t tell anyone else your name is Talion.”

 

“That is my father’s name, orc,” Dirhael’s voice was cold. “Tell me how you heard it, lest I remove your head from your miserable shoulders.”

 

The orc coughed, frozen, but didn’t say anything more. Even Dirhael threatening him more got no reaction. Finally the orc broke, but it was not to tell Dirhael anything.

 

“Ratbag don’t care what you do to him, tark,” the orc hissed. “What  _ he’ll _ do to Ratbag is far worse. He’s much scarier than you are, and Ratbag hasn’t kept alive by going against him!”

 

The orc refused to say anything more, so Dirhael huffed and watched the camp around them. Several orcs had a familiar blue hand print on their armour or faces. One of these orcs kept signing the number nine at him, and looked strangely dejected when Dirhael shook his head uncomprehendingly. He had no idea what the orc wanted from him.

 

Ratbag signed something back at the orc that Dirhael could not understand at  _ all _ . It made the orc perk up and look at Dirhael in fascination. The glare that Dirhael shot in his direction only made him happier.

 

The sound of large wings flapping above him made Dirhael look up and immediately pale. One of the largest fire drakes he had ever seen in his life was soaring above their heads. A much smaller figure was sitting on its neck and Dirhael could only stare in disbelief. What kind of idiot  _ rode _ a fire drake?

 

Then, because riding a fire drake wasn’t insanity enough, the figure leapt off of the beast. Dirhael could do nothing but continue staring, mouth open in shock as the figure landed before them, completely unharmed. Distantly, he could see the other Gondorians doing the same, but the orcs remained entirely unaffected by this display other than a few awed whispers.

 

The fire drake swooped down and landed behind the figure, who looked disturbingly similar to the creature Dirhael had fought, and crouched above them, snarling. Its head swung around to peer at everyone surrounding it, revealing a bright blue hand painted over its right eye.

 

The orc who had captured them, Tuhorn the Clever, paused for a moment before marching over to the creature standing before the fire drake. From where he sat Dirhael could see the tension in the orc’s shoulders, the only visible sign of his fear. Idiot. It was sensible to be scared of a fire drake, not weak.

 

“Gravewalker!” Tuhorn bellowed, a quaver in his voice. “I, Tuhorn the Clever, have finally orchestrated your downfall! I have capture the last living things that you care about, shrieker. I will wipe them off of the face of Arda while making you watch.”

 

The “Gravewalker” tilted its head at Tuhorn the Clever, scornful and curious at the same time.

 

“That’s right, Gravewalker,” Tuhorn said. Dirhael couldn’t see him, but he was probably showing his ugly teeth off. “I’ve captured your decoy bodyguard and his people.”

 

The Gravewalker snorted derisively, a noise Dirhael could hear from across the camp. Then he signed something that Dirhael couldn’t quite catch other than the word ‘care.’

 

“You really don’t care?” Tuhorn scoffed. “That one looks exactly like you!” He was, of course, pointing at Dirhael. “If you really don’t care, then you don’t mind if I kill them?”

 

The Gravewalker’s hellfire eyes swept over Dirhael, his mother, his King, his Queen, his Captain, and his sister-in-arms, before turning to face Tuhorn again, dismissing them entirely. When he spoke his voice was rough, reverberating through the air like the sound of a gong and strained as if he was forcing himself to speak when he could not.

 

“They are not my men,” he said in that strained voice. “Kill them if you please. I do not care.”

 

Then he turned and walked away, back towards his fire drake. The part of Dirhael that had been hoping that the creature truly was his father, brought back to life, faded. There was no way this apathetic creature could ever be his father. Even if he hadn’t known them, his father would have saved them, just because they needed to be saved. How dare this  _ thing _ steal his father’s face and then leave them to die.

 

That was when the fire drake lifted its head and breathed a stream of balefire directly onto Tuhorn the Clever. When the stream of fire ended, leaving Dirhael blinking spots out of his eyes, the Gravewalker’s hand was glowing a sickly green and a bright blue bow was in his hands.

 

An arrow, the same colour as the bow, hit Tuhorn the Clever right between the eyes, finishing off what the fire did not.

 

Then chaos erupted as the orcs with the blue hand prints turned on their brethren. It wasn’t that surprising that orcs would turn on each other, but the sheer number of orcs slaughtering their kin was astonishing. Mercenaries also joined in, seemingly from nowhere. 

 

The Gravewalker stood in the center of it all, smooth sword strikes taking out orcs almost absently. Once he was overwhelmed by orcs, he finally moved, flipping over orcs and leaving them frozen, brutal swipes of his sword cleaving orcs in half.

 

He moved through the orcs with deadly ferocity, a savagery that left many of the orcs motionless and staring at the spectacle before them. Dirhael knew they were a warrior race and the expression on their faces as they watched this creature quite literally obliterate any orcs in his path made this fact  _ very _ obvious.  _ Dirhael _ was even impressed, and he hated the damned creature.

 

An orc swung its sword at him, and the Gravewalker rolled out of the way, coming up with a punch that sent the orc staggering back. He swept the orc’s feet out from under itself then yanked it up to gut it with his knife. Another orc ran up to him and was hit hard by a wraith of the Gravewalker.

 

As he yanked the blade out of the first orc, the Gravewalker turned and used that ghostly blue bow to put an arrow in the second orc’s skull. More orcs charged him, and Dirhael believed he was going to be outmatched, but a hard punch froze a dozen orcs in one strike, leaving the Gravewalker able to focus on the olog-hai that appeared. 

 

The Gravewalker slid between its legs and when it turned and tried to smash him, he used another terrifyingly powerful strike to daze it and climbed on its back. He used that same short blade to stab the olog-hai repeatedly in the back, occasionally sticking it in and  _ pulling _ so that the olog-hai turned the way he wanted, moving it to shatter the frozen orcs.

 

As the olog-hai fell, the Gravewalker flipped off of its back and immediately turned to remove an orc’s head with his knife, which was starting to look weirdly like a broken sword. The world was starting to look dark, an afterimagine of his father seeming to move with the Gravewalker.

 

Dirhael grit his teeth as he felt rain on his skin, the cold sinking into his very bones. The Gravewalker faded as he was overtaken by Father cutting through the Uruks who murdered the Black Gate garrison. He kept glancing over at Dirhael, ensuring his safety.  _ You’re the one who dies, Father, watch your own back! _

 

An orc slammed its weapon into Father’s head, and a pained gasp cut through the flashback, Dirhael’s vision clearing to show the Gravewalker on his knees as an orc pulled back his bow. Dirhael barely saw him deflect the arrow through the orc that advanced on Ratbag and Dirhael.

 

“The Gravewalker may not care about you,” it said through bloodied teeth, “but I wanna see how you taste.”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Dirhael was not gonna die sitting here tied up to some wooden pole next to a cowardly fucking orc! Especially not after that creepy fucking line. Dirhael bared his teeth at the orc, who merely laughed and crouched down to run his blade along Dirhael’s cheek. Ratbag swore viciously behind Dirhael, but he was ignored.

 

Dirhael snarled, the blade cutting into his face, and kicked the orc right in between the legs. It shouted and stepped back, cupping its hands over its groin. It growled and straightened a bit, still protecting his most sensitive parts, but Dirhael got his feet under himself and pushed. 

 

“Oh, what the fuck,” Ratbag wheezed as his chest was crushed to the pole. “What the fuck, we’re gonna die, you’re gonna crush me to death-” Dirhael tuned him out.

 

He managed to get them up the pole enough to kick the orc in the stomach again so it doubled over, then wrapped his thighs around its filthy fucking neck.

 

“Taste this, you piece of shit,” Dirhael snarled as he twisted and snapped the orc’s neck. “Ratbag, shut the  _ fuck _ up, or you’re next!”

 

Ratbag finally shut up, his mouth clicking audibly as he closed it. The orc slumped down against Dirhael as he slid back down the wooden pole. Dirhael grimaced, but used his feet to grab the knife from the orc’s belt. He kicked it towards his hands, praying that it didn’t cut him. (Maybe he would get lucky and it’d cut off Ratbag’s head.)

 

Thankfully, it landed just close enough that he could strain to reach it and use it to start cutting the ropes. He was not going to sit here while another orc walked up to him to see if he was easy prey.

 

Finally, Dirhael managed to cut the ropes. He grabbed the sword that the orc had dropped, and turned to place the blade of it under Ratbag’s throat as he stood. Ratbag froze as he felt the blade, looking up at Dirhael. He swallowed, the movement pushing against the blade.

 

“I will not kill you now,” Dirhael told him, “but if you try to kill me, I will not hesitate to remove your head from your shoulders. Understand?”

 

The orc tried to nod, winced, and said, “Yeah, Ranger, I understand.”

 

“Good,” Dirhael said, and turned, flipping his sword around his hand to test its weight. “Then let’s go hunting.”

 

He waded into the thick of the fighting, ignoring the little orc behind him.

 

~

 

A glance over at Dirhael told Talion that his son had escaped his bonds and was fighting his way through the orcs, cutting them down viciously. Ioreth and Eowyn were standing back to back, destroying any orc that got close enough for them to strike down. King Aragorn and Faramir were fighting together as well, the King using his bow to keep the orcs away and Faramir slicing down any that got close. Queen Arwen was alone, stolen blades flashing and tearing into the orcs she fought through.

 

A blade came disturbingly close to his neck, prompting Talion to pay attention to his own fight. He stepped out of the way of the next strike, stepping forward to bury Acharn into the orc’s throat, ripping it back out and stepping out of the way of the blood spray.

 

Talion spun, placing Acharn back into its sheathe and pulling out Urfael, spinning it to cut through an orc’s arm before redirecting it to remove its head. Another sword swung passed his head, so Talion turned and punched the orc who had nearly decapitated him and froze him and the next three behind him.

 

The orc who’s throat Talion had cut rose up, a green glow in its eyes and Talion winced as it stabbed another orc. He hadn’t meant to raise that one. A few of his own orcs and the mercenaries looked at the green-eyed undead orc and then at Talion.

 

“I meant to do that,” Talion signed at them. 

 

“Sure you did, boss,” Serka said. “We believe you.”

 

Talion rolled his eyes at him before flipping Urfael and shoving it through the heart of an orc behind him, pulling it out with slick sound. The orc collapsed for a moment before it gasped, standing up and turning its blade on its brethren.

 

Serka raised his eyebrows at Talion again, and Talion sighed as he stabbed his blade down through another orc’s foot. He twisted Urfael to slice up the orc’s leg, cutting it in half vertically, the shrill shrieks grating on Talion’s frayed nerves. He pulled Acharn out of the sheathe and shoved it into the orc’s jugular so it would bleed out there as well.

 

Talion glanced around, his vision bleeding red as he saw an orc assassin sneaking up behind Dirhael. He shoved his blades into an orc, a thought bringing Azkar to his hand, and Talion drew the bow smoothly to fire an arrow directly into the orc’s head. It seems the assassins had made their appearance as well.

 

He sidestepped an orc, tripped it, and shoved a quickly summoned Aeglos into its head as he switched over to the wraith world to check for any more assassins. He saw two more, one creeping up on Aragorn and the other on Ioreth. Talion growled, pulling Azkar back once more and sending the arrow flying to protect his king as he projected his fëa to Ioreth to catch the assassin’s blade on his own. Ioreth noticed the assassin and drove her blade into its chest as Talion called the wraith back to him, pulling Urfael and Acharn from the dead orc to cleave an orc in half.

 

Talion growled ferally as an orc managed to hit him with an arrow in the back of his thigh, spinning to send an arrow flying back at the piece of shrakh. He pulled the arrow out of his own thigh, shoving it up into an orc’s brain through its chin. 

 

It was a bad idea, but Talion just had to stop to watch his wife fight. He didn’t know when she had learned to fight, but it was beautiful. She was graceful and brutal all at once. He smiled under his hood as he caught an arrow in front of his face and threw it back at the archer, impaling his eye on the sharp tip. Talion wished that he could have seen her fight while they both lived. They could have fought together, and it would have been a sight to behold.

 

Talion managed to drag his eyes away from his beautiful wife when she turned and glared at him in fury as she sliced through an orc’s leg. He didn’t blame her for being angry, but Talion wished that he could be as he was before.

 

Talion sighed sadly as he used Acharn to sever another orc’s spine while a different orc rose from the dead. He really needed to stop doing that. There were more than a dozen of the undead on the battlefield now, not counting Talion himself. 

 

There weren’t actually that many orcs left, Talion noticed, which was a minor miracle. It helped to have so many people fighting with him, rather than by himself. However, he was done. This battle had dragged on too long and nearly killed his son, wife, and king.

 

Talion sheathed Urfael, ducked under a blade, and grabbed the nearest orc by the throat. He snarled in the terrified orc’s face, using Acharn to rip and slice into the orcs chest and gut, cutting through the ribs and piercing its heart. The few remaining orcs witnessed this brutalization, turning and fleeing at the sight of his savagery. Any remaining orcs fled when he lit up in a fiery blaze as he yanked Acharn out of the corpse, while a few unlucky souls were caught in the flame.

 

Blood dripped off of his hand as Talion stood up. He could feel it in his armour, on his cloak, in his gauntlets. It was disgusting. He shook his hand to try and get it out of his gauntlet, but only a resurrection would get rid of this kind of gore. 

 

Mozu the Machine gave Talion a look.

 

“I need a bath,” Talion signed at him and Mozu rolled his eyes.

 

“Tarks,” he muttered.

 

One of the orcs that had been assigned as a spy here grinned at Talion, signing ‘Nine’ excitedly. Talion smiled back at him and the orc got really excited. 

 

“Yes, I’m the Ninth,” he signed back at him. 

 

“Your decoy is here,” the orc signed. “I thought he was you, so I wondered why he wasn’t responding to me.”

 

Talion frowned in confusion for a moment, before realizing that they thought Dirhael was his decoy. “He speaks sign,” Talion told the orc, “he just didn’t understand you meant me. He’s also not my decoy.”

 

“What?” the orc signed. “That’s impossible. He looks just like you!”

 

Talion winced, trying to figure out how to explain to the orc that the ‘decoy’ was his dead son when Ratbag ran up. 

 

“Ranger!” Ratbag called. “Ratbag saw something earlier!”

 

“You see a lot of things, Ratbag,” Talion signed in response. “Not all of them real or particularly sensible.”

 

“Ratbag was tied up next to another Ranger,” Ratbag said.

 

Talion looked around at the corpses of their enemies, taking note of Dirhael and his King both. Including Talion that meant that there were currently three Rangers, two of which Ratbag could be talking about.

 

“Which one?” Talion signed. 

 

“Whatcha mean, ‘which one’?” Ratbag asked. “There’s you and there’s-”

 

“My son,” Talio signed in confirmation. “However there is also the King.”

 

“But I thought you said ‘e was dead!” Ratbag said, waving in Dirhael’s general direction.

 

Talion inhaled deeply before he exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how they’re alive and that’s what I intend to find out, Ratbag!”

 

Serka coughed behind them. “Am I interrupting anything, Gravewalker?”

 

Talion sighed and motioned for Serka to come and stand in front of him, next to Ratbag. Serka gave Ratbag a scornful look as Ratbag edged away from him and a little closer to Talion, who side-eyed him but said nothing.

 

“I need you to escort the Gondorians to Minas Morgul through the pass of Cirith Ungol,” Talion told Serka as aforementioned Gondorians walked up. Talion felt his entire being tense up. “If you run into any trouble, take them through the tunnels. Shelob will help, I’m sure. If she doesn’t, remind her that she owes me.”

 

Dirhael looked pale, which made Talion wince. He really hope that he hadn’t just accidentally convince Dirhael that he was going to feed him to the Ungoliath. Talion couldn’t remember how much sign Dirhael knew, so it was very possible that he didn’t get the whole message. 

 

“You sure you wanna risk that, boss?” Serka said, eyeing the Gondorians doubfully. “They might freak out and she’d just eat them anyway.”

 

Talion gave him a look and Serka grinned, stepping back with his bloodied hands raised. Sometimes Talion wondered where all this insubordination came from.

 

“Gravewalker,” King Aragorn stepped forward. “We would like to thank you for the rescue.”

 

Talion’s muscles grew even tighter with tension, especially as he heard Ioreth angrily mutter what sounded like ‘we most certainly would not,’ while a blonde woman gripped her arm tightly. He nodded curtly, before turning and walking swiftly over to Tuhorn’s body. He could not deal with them right now. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

 

“Why were you at the battlefield the other day?” Dirhael asked as Talion looked through Tuhorn’s pockets for any valuable information.

 

Talion didn’t respond. Maybe if he said nothing than they would go away where Talion couldn’t corrupt them with his very presence. Maybe they would think him stupid or realize his corruption and leave him be. It would be the best for them, even if Talion missed them so much that it felt as if there was a void it what little was left of his soul.

 

Dirhael huffed angrily (just like he had done as a teenager) at Talion’s lack of response, but Talion had just found a paper. He opened the paper, skimmed it, and immediately stood, causing Dirhael to step back cautiously. (Not fearfully, Talion didn’t want Dirhael to ever fear him.)

 

He whistled, catching Serka, Tarz, and Ratbag’s attention, alongside the Gondorians. “He wasn’t working alone. There’s another attack at the fort in Nurnen that I must attend to.”

 

A sudden horrifying realization hit Talion. “I must go quickly, Lithariel is in danger.”

 

“Of course, boss” Serka said. “We’ll take care of your pet project, you go get your kid.”

 

Talion signed a quick thank you, before turning towards the cliff that Feanor was flying around. Suddenly he stopped, gritting his teeth. Dirhael’s horse had been eaten before the battle. He had seen it, and Cirith Ungol was too dangerous to walk on foot. 

 

Turning back around showed Talion that none of them had stopped staring while he turned to leave. Serka gave him a confused look, but ignored him in favor of walking up to a furious Dirhael.

 

Talion tried to remember what little sign he had taught Dirhael. “With no horse, you will be in danger. Two on a horse is too slow,” Talion signed.

 

“What would you know about traveling in Mordor?” Dirhael scoffed. “And there is nothing to be done about it.”

 

“I know a lot about traveling in Mordor,” Talion said, bringing up his hand to summon a Dire Caragor. Dirhael stared at her and at Talion as he got the reigns shoved into his hand. “She will care for you. Don’t die.”

 

Talion turned and put on a burst of supernatural speed and leapt off of the cliff onto Feanor’s back. She purred in greeting and soared up above the top of the cliffs, reading his intent and turning towards Nurnen. She flew over the heads of the Gondorians, a roar rumbling through her chest and no doubt shaking the ground. 

 

“Keep me safe, beautiful girl,” he whispered into her scales and he leaned low over her neck. Then he closed his eyes and sent his soul from his body once more.

 

He blinked open the eyes of a Dire Caragor, staring up at his son. Dirhael was staring up towards Feanor with blank disbelief before he looked up at Vanilla. 

 

“This is a huge caragor,” Dirhael whispered as he looked at Talion through Vanilla’s eyes. “Does he - she - they have a name? What’s the gender?”

 

Serka laughed, shaking his head. “That’s the Gravewalker’s Dire Caragor, her name is Vanilla.”

 

“Vanilla?” Dirhael looked baffled. “That’s funny.”

 

“Funny how?” King Aragorn asked.

 

“When I was little I had a dog  who I named Vanilla,” Dirhael said as Vanilla leaned forward to smell him. “It’s weird that a creature who shares my father’s face would also have that name.”

 

Talion looked away from them at that. He was nothing. He was an emotionless wraith wearing the body of a good man. At least Dirhael and Ioreth recognized it, even if Lithariel and the orcs and the children did not. Hopefully it would keep them away from his corruption.

 

However…

 

He couldn’t help but laugh as Vanilla finished snuffling at Dirhael’s hair and purred, knocking Dirhael over to lay on top of him. Dirhael made a wheezing sound.

 

“Oh my god,” he choked. “She’s heavy.”

 

Talion left them as Serka laughed and even Ioreth grinned at the Dire Caragor running her tongue over Dirhael’s hair. Vanilla did that to Talion as well when she believed he was in desperate need of a good cleaning. Dire Caragors tended to be possessive like that.

 

Cool air flew passed Talion’s face as Feanor brought him closer to Nurnen. He had missed them desperately, wondering what he would do now that they were back, but having them was more terrifying than he had ever imagined. He didn’t want to corrupt those that he loved, but with Ioreth and Dirhael right in front of him, Talion missed them more than ever before.

 

Feanor’s comforting purr rolled through Talion as he laid his head on her neck. As much as he had missed them, a part of Talion wished that they he didn’t have to reopen all of the wounds associated with them. It was selfish, maybe, but his presence seemed to cause them nothing but pain and anger. 

 

_ What the hell am I going to do about this? _ Talion wondered as they drew ever closer to Nurnen. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't like the fight scene, get over it. It's my first time writing one, and I worked hard on that, dammit!
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr at padawan-lightningstarborne.tumblr.com and yourlocalbirb can be found at your-local-birb.tumblr.com
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
